Fairytale
by carrinth
Summary: Once upon a time, in the tiny Kingdom of Lothering, there lived an exasperated queen and her three unremarkable children. CRACK fic with a dash of hopeless romantic.
1. Prince Hawke of Lothering

**A/N: **Sometimes I don't just draw crack. I write it. Heavy, heavy crack. There's beautifully written wonders that express the full prowess of the human language. This is not it. This is... this is junk food fiction. This is bad for your health and contains no nutritional value! You have been warned! - Carrinth

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><p><strong>O<strong>nce upon a time, in the tiny Kingdom of Lothering, there lived an exasperated queen and her three unremarkable children.

"Oh dear husband Malcolm!" Queen Leandra cried before the poorly painted painting of her long deceased hubby. "Behold our eldest born! Why must he be such a sissy boy? Why?"

"I'm a girl, mother…" said eldest child mumbled, absently herding some stray goats into their pens.

"Foolish boy! Girls do not wear men's clothes! And wear their hair short!" the queen chided before turning her gaze back to the impassive visage of the former King Malcolm Hawke. "Oh husband mine! If only our first born was as manly and virile as you!"

"Mother!" the oldest Hawke protested, face aghast.

"See his baby soft skin! His large, innocent eyes! Those perfectly plush lips! Those dainty limbs," the queen sighed, grasping her eldest child's hands fretfully. "Oh my beautiful boy! If you don't bulk up or act more masculine soon, I fear some hulking, savage bandit may come and steal you away as his man-bride!"

Hawke yanked her tiny fingers from her mother's grasp. "I believe I can take care of myself, mother,"

Queen Leandra tsked patronizingly, cupping her child's face. "Oh my effeminate son. I worry about you so! Between the Blight Lawyers and your dear father's death, I don't know how we will ever keep the farm. Think of your poor siblings!"

Accepting the sudden change in conversation, Hawke merely blinked away the confusion as she pulled her mother's hand away. "I'll think of something mother. We could sell the goats. And old Barlin has some job offers…"

"What! You cannot work for that old farmer Barlin! You are royalty!" Queen Leandra gasped in dire protest. She abruptly moved away, leaning heavily into King Malcolm's portrait. "Oh Malcolm! If only you were here to witness what we have been reduced to!"

"Don't cry mother, please," Hawke sighed, awkwardly patting the weeping woman's shoulder. "Look, Carver, Beth and I are heading to town. Maybe we'll find some odd jobs—worthy of royalty," the eldest child added hastily when her mother's breath abruptly hitched again.

"Don't flirt with any loose women!" Leandra warned suddenly. "And don't go sticking your royal staff into any places it doesn't belong!"

"Mother I can't—you know what? Nevermind. Of course mother. I'll make sure Carver knows that too,"

The queen smiled softly at this, touching her child's cheek with great tenderness. "You're such a good son. You may be a little soft and delicate… but a good son."

Hawke fought down the unrelenting urge to scream.

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><p>"So where are going?" Bethany chirped happily.<p>

The eldest Hawke child spared her younger sister a glance before continuing forward. "Work. We need coin to keep the Blight Lawyers at bay."

"Curse those Blight Lawyers! If father were still alive, he'd show them a thing or two!" Carver swore, angrily shaking his fist at the sky.

Although rarely seeing eye to eye with her more aggressive younger brother, the older Hawke couldn't help but agree with this statement. King Malcolm was a force to be reckoned with and seemed to have always expected his eldest child to follow in suit. Alas…

"Brothers! What's going on over there?" Bethany suddenly perked up, pointing to a crowd of people clustered around the Chantry Board.

"Beth!" Hawke cried in despair.

"Oh. Sorry. But you have to admit it's easier to say 'brothers' rather than 'brother and mannish looking sister',"

Hawke frowned, glancing down at her man clothes. "I don't look mannish…" she mumbled doubtfully.

Carver meanwhile had elbowed his way through the throng and was urgently beckoning his siblings. "Take a look at this!"

CALLING ALL CAPABLE HEROES OF FERELDAN

THE WARDEN KING INVITES YOU TO PARTICIPATE IN A COMPETITION OF SKILL AND VIRILITY

TAKE PART IN ALL OUT FIGHT WITH ONLY ONE WINNER

500,000 Gold Coins Reward

Terms & Conditions Apply. See below

Hawke stopped reading. 500,000 gold. 500,000 gold! That… That would be more than enough to save the farm! And then some.

"Carver you should take part!" Bethany's loud squeal interrupted Hawke's internal musings.

Hawke blinked rapidly, shooting a glance at her suddenly nervous male sibling. He agitatedly rubbed his neck, a deep frown marking his features. "Beth… didn't you read the terms and conditions?"

Hawke grew confused at this. Usually Prince Carver Hawke was the first to jump into a competition of any kind. What was wrong? "What terms?"

Bethany folded her arms peevishly, glaring at the notice as if it had personally offended her, which in retrospect it probably had. "Only men can participate! Can you believe that?"

"What?" Hawke echoed, blinking even more rapidly.

"That's not all it says…" Carver started as his eyes rapidly scanned the notice.

"Then, Carver you have to go!" Hawke interrupted, her voice stern.

As usually, Carver chafed under being ordered around by his girly older brother. Sister. Whatever. "Why don't _you_ go?"

"I can't…"

"But think of the gold… think about the farm. About mother." Bethany pleaded.

"But—" Hawke started.

"Huh, you little boys thinking of joining? Huh hurr, don't get yer hopes up," a low, bibulous voice abruptly cut in.

The three Hawke siblings spun about frantically until Carver finally spotted something very red, and very drunk hunched at their feet.

"What do you mean, serrah?" the oldest Hawke questioned, vivid eyes falling into a scowl.

The dwarf bleached obnoxiously before lurching unsteadily towards them. "What I mean pretty boy, is that this here is fer men. Not dainty, delicate little boylings."The red-haired dwarf gave the elder Hawke a once over. "Her her! Yer wouldn't last five rounds in there, nug tails!"

"I would too!" Hawke protested, a sharp fierce outrage growing in her offended heart.

"Blegh. Don't blow yer hot air at me. Talk ain't nothin' if yer don't have the balls to back it up! Counter's over there." A wobbly thumb jerked towards a large table where an entirely too amused looking blond elf sat. "G'on. I dare ya!"

Determined, outraged, and full of righteous fury, Hawke marched determinately towards the table.

"Sister…" Bethany nervously hissed into her ear. "You don't… you're missing something very important to join!"

But Hawke would have none of it! Slamming a dainty fist onto the wooden table, the young woman all but snarled: "Sign me up!"

The blond elf with strange tattoos smirked invitingly, looking at the fuming woman up and down. "Well," he purred, leaning closer. "How could I possibly deny the request of a handsome young man such as yourself?"

'_Man'?_ Hawke wanted to punch his perfect nose.

He slid an application form, allowing their fingers to brush ever so slightly. "And please. Do not be upset by dear Oghren's manners. It's how he shows his affection!" His voice dipped lower. "Would you care to see how I show mine?"

Hawke said nothing in return, busying herself with filling up the paper form with extreme prejudice. "Here." She clipped, sliding the form back.

The elf seemed a little put off by her behaviour as he accepted the form with a sigh. "I guess you don't play on both sides of the fence mmm?" Not waiting for Hawke's reply he glanced back down at the form. "Hawke from Lothering." He titled his head. "You wouldn't happen to be related to King Malcolm Hawke of Lothering?"

"That was my father,"

"Braska! Oghren my foul-smelling friend! It seems we have been in the presence of royalty! Not as dignitary as Antivan or Wardens true, but royalty all the same!"

The drunken dwarf appeared to ever so briefly stir from his stupor. "Wha now? Pretty baby face is some royal princeling brat? I get enough of that of that… that… what's his face. Blond face."

"Your descriptions are a marvel! You give beautiful Leliana a run for her coin in bardic poetry!" the elf cooed in mock severity. He then turned back to the awaiting Hawkes, all smiles. Stamping the application form he neatly stacked it atop a slightly intimidating pile. "Thank you for your participation Prince Hawke! I wish you luck,"

"It's Princess Haw— OW"

"Thank you serrah!" Bethany exclaimed in an entirely too cheerful voice before gripping her sister's arm tight. Only once they were out of sight did her sister release her death-like grip.

"Bethany!"

"Sister!"

"Our dear eldest sibling has a point," Carver mumbled, crossing his arms. "I mean, did you read the terms Beth?"

Bethany rounded a glare at her twin brother. "Yes I did. But it's a lot of gold Carver and I'm sure our brave, older sibling is willing to sacrifice to save the farm!" Bethany now shifted to the older sibling in question. "Aren't you?"

"I'd do anything to save the farm…" Hawke admitted slowly, feeling a nagging dread.

"There you go! So stop trying to convince people you're a girl and man up!"

"But. But I am a girl!" Hawke wailed.

"We believe you… sister," Carver ground out grudgingly. "But admittedly you have a better chance than me. Of all of us, you have the best chance of saving father's legacy by winning that competition. There I said it okay,"

"Carver…" Hawke whispered, suddenly full of emotions. They never saw eye to eye much so these moments were rare indeed.

"Do the Hawke name proud," Bethany smiled.

* * *

><p>The next day, Hawke found herself approaching a large stage wherein a huge crowd had already gathered. Two combatants would face off and the victor would move to the next round and so on. Already the fighting was beginning in earnest.<p>

Hawke stepped up to the platform where a disinterested looking dark-haired man with a hooked nose waited. "Participants only boy, clear off."

_Boy?_"I'm a participant," Hawke defended with a scowl.

The man gave Hawke a once over and shook his head. "Damn elf. Only interested in signing the pretty ones. What's your name boy?" he sighed miserably.

"Hawke."

Lethargically, he thumbed through the list of applications before frowning. "Prince Hawke of Lothering?"

_Princess! _"Whatever," Hawke sighed, desolate but accepting.

He waved her along, passing her form to an awaiting but unfamiliar female dwarf. "Our next challenger is Prince Hawke of Lothering! The challenge is simple. Whoever successfully navigates the Warden Death Maze of Detriment, and reaches the idol first, wins!"

"Good luck brother!" Bethany's voice cheered in the distance below the stage. Hawke gritted her teeth.


	2. The Warden Princess

**A/N:** Describing Hawke running the maze wasn't important. So let's skip that part shall we? Have I mentioned this is bad junk food writing? :3

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><p>.<p>

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-2-

Hawke reached up and grasped the idol. Triumphant, she held it aloft as the crowd cheered.

From the upstairs banisters, the observing Warden King Alistair clapped appreciatively. "Congratulations young man! You have won the 500,000 gold reward!"

Letting our a relieved sigh, Hawke slummed onto her knees, panting for breath. She had did it. She had won! Now they'd be able to get the gold and ward off the Blight Lawyers, save the farm, buy mother a proper painting frame, maybe purchase a few more farm animals, and… and fix that persistent roof leakage—

"And the hand in marriage of our beautiful warden princess!"

Hawke's intense eyes snapped open at this. P-Princess-what now? "P-Prin-what?" she echoed stupidly.

The grin on Alistair's face widened unbelievably. Standing, he snapped his fingers towards the surrounding guards. "Alright guys! Let's bundle up Prince Charming here and marry him off to our most eagerly awaiting princess!"

"W-Wait a minute!" Hawke stammered, eyes fearfully darting back and forth at the warily enclosing guardsmen. "What. What about the reward?"

The Warden King waved his hand flippantly. "Oh, you can collect it after the marriage." He leaned forward. "After _consummating_ the marriage."

Panic, sharp and true, shot through the young woman's heart as a gruff and firm ginger-haired guard stoically clamped onto Hawke's upper arm. "I – I didn't want this! I just needed the gold!"

Alistair cocked his head to the side curiously, a slight frown crossing his brow. "Um. Then you shouldn't have taken part? Didn't you read the Terms & Conditions statement at all?"

Thunderstruck, Hawke snapped her head towards her siblings, both shuffling guiltily on their feet. "I tried to warn you," Carver started awkwardly, not meeting his older sister's furious glare.

"You knew about this!" Hawke hissed.

"'_The victor will also win the hand in marriage to a warden princess. The prize money can only be collected after marriage to the princess_'," Alistair parroted, reading the tiny, tiny disclaimer written on the notice. "So… let's get this marriage started!" the Warden King announced cheerily before suddenly pausing. "You don't… already have some little wife stashed away somewhere? A secret missus even?"

"No!" Hawke protested in outrage before belatedly realizing her error.

"Wonderful! Come on people! I'm sure the Warden Commander is eager for this marriage to be off!"

"Noooo!" Hawke wailed, digging her feet ineffectually as she was hauled away by two burly guards.

"Honestly," the ginger-haired guard snapped. "Be a man and take responsibility! I swear, I do not understand this male phobia towards commitment,"

The other guard, a dark-haired one with a mutton chop beard, laughed good-naturedly. "A mystery to the world Aveline love. Don't worry so much about it lad. Marriage is a wonderful thing and I'm sure you'll find happiness with your wife,"

"But I'm a girl!" Hawke helplessly moaned.

Aveline scowled, slapping her charge's head disapprovingly. "Shush! Just because you're a little… effeminate… doesn't mean it makes you any less of a man."

"Have you tried growing a beard, lad?" Donnic added earnestly.

Hawke hung her head in defeat, as she was shoved into an awaiting carriage. It was only a minor consolation that her siblings were allowed to ride with her as she threw herself into Bethany's arms and sobbed hysterically.

"I can't marry another woman Beth! I can't!"

"But older sibling, you must think of the gold! We need it! You have to do this for the farm!" Carver interjected.

"Carver you're sometimes such an insensitive git!" Hawke snarled, punching her younger, although much larger and taller, brother in the shoulder.

Bethany meanwhile, tugged her enraged older sibling back and stroked her short cropped hair soothingly. "Oh don't weep sister. Maybe… maybe you'll discover your inner lesbian?"

Hawke didn't want to discover any inner anything. But she knew both her siblings spoke true. They desperately needed the gold. The eldest Hawke continued laying in her sister's comforting embrace for the rest of the journey, all the while being desperately soothed by the gentle (Beth) and not so gentle (Carver) reassurances of her two siblings.

"For the farm…" she mumbled wearily.

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><p>Hawke walked with her two siblings in tow into a large, spacious and very griffon-themed throne room. "Wait here," the warden that had ushered them in instructed gruffly. And with that, the tattooed dwarven woman stomped away.<p>

They did not have to wait for long before distant, muffled shouting echoed through the closed door. Two voices appeared to be arguing, two very deep and ultra masculine voices. Hawke titled her head, barely making out the words.

"—don't want to get married! How could you make that decision for me!"

"Well what's done is done! He's already here! You're marrying Prince Hawke! End of discussion!"

Hawke felt her throat catch. This must be the princess! But. But her voice was so very, very deep. A clawing, foreboding feeling of utter dread was now building in Hawke's stomach. Frantic, she turned to her siblings, her vivid eyes betraying tightly controlled terror.

For all their disagreements, Carver did love his older sibling. While sissy, and effeminate, he still respected his sibling's tremendous battle prowess. Even if he himself constantly radiated jealousy. Steeling his nerve, Carver marched determinedly towards the door. "I'll go have a look,"

"I'll help!" Bethany called, hurrying behind her twin. They disappeared stealthily and the wooden door slowly clicked shut.

Alone and forlorn, Hawke stood before the empty throne room, wringing her hands agitatedly as she paced the griffon-patterned carpet. She didn't have to wait long before Carver and Bethany came barreling into the empty throne room, faces ashen and fearful. Hawke felt her stomach plummet even more.

"Oh sister! Oh sister…" Bethany blubbered, tears streaming down her eyes.

"W-What?" Hawke demanded, fear making her voice even more shrill. "WHAT?"

"The princess. She… She… She's—"

"—Absolutely hideous!" Carver blurted, eyes wild. "She's huge! With massive shoulders! A-And great thick arms! And… And she has facial hair!"

"A stubble! I swear I saw a stubble!" Bethany echoed, dabbing her eyes and sniffing loudly.

"She's more mannish than you! Did you see those arms? And that flat, flat chest," Carver continued, waving his own arms about feverishly.

"Well I wouldn't say her arms are as thick as yours brother," Bethany pipped with a thoughtful expression. "Actually, I would say she's much lighter built than you. Taller though, but slimmer."

Hawke grew a millimetre hopeful.

"But still more mannish than our older sibling here,"

"Oh most definitely," Bethany agreed, nodding.

Carver shuddered. "No wonder they had to slip it into the Terms & Conditions. No sane man would agree if he caught even a glimpse of her!"

Panic was now unleashed, untamed and true. "I-I can't marry her," Hawke started. "I can't marry her!" she shrieked in a voice growing ever more hysterical.

But just at that moment, bagpipes sounded. "Presenting, the Warden Commander and the Warden Princess!" a voice announced, even as the wooden doors swung majestically open.

Time seemed to slow as Hawke beheld the princess and the princess her. The princess was clad in an exquisite green dress that was sleeveless, showing off muscular arms, with raven-black feathers tracing broad, square shoulders. Eyes widening and lips trembling, Hawke realized with despair her siblings had spoken true. A whimpering sob broke the silence followed by the princess' sneering grimace.

"Maker's breath Amell! You said I was going to marry a man! Not some wet-eared simpering little boy! He doesn't even look old enough to be leaving his mother's skirt!" the princess declared with a disgusted look, folding massive arms across a very flat chest.

Hawke was many things. And… not many things too. But Hawke was fiercely defensive on her ability to stand on her own without her mother's tampering. "Well! Y-You're a hideously ugly woman!" Hawke was not blessed however, with witty one-liner comebacks.

The Warden Princess shifted her stance, her thick (alright not that thick) eyebrow arching with slow interest. "Oh, got some fight in him after all!" she took a step forward, long legs hidden by the dark green skirt. "Hideous woman am I? Well, at least I'm not a tiny little man-child slinging insults to make himself feel better than a woman,"

But I _am_ a woman! Hawke thought to herself sobbingly.

"Alright! Alright! Break it up!" the Warden Commander shushed, stepping between them. Hawke glanced up at the tall warden, dressed in a flawless red and orange dress with rich embroidery. The Warden Commander might have been beautiful, with unblemished pale skin and midnight black hair, if not for the very obvious beard growing on her chin. Hawke repressed a shudder, as if the princess' stubble was not bad enough. They must be related.

"You two are going to get married and that's final," the bearded woman continued, eyes stern. The princess seemed about to object again when her mother (?) raised an upward palm. "Enough Anders! Prince Hawke won the competition and claimed the idol. You know what this means,"

Anders? Hawke echoed in her mind. What kind of a deluded name was Anders?

Princess Anders made a face before shifting her gaze to scowl down at Hawke. Already Hawke was cursing her bride's monstrous height. She perceived many futures of that ugly princess looking down on her, both physically and metaphorically. "I suppose. But marriage? Really?"

The Warden Commander spread her large arms, gesturing ever so slightly to the frowning Hawke. "It's the only way." The Warden levelled a glance. "This is not the place for such discussions. Now, let us get this ceremony on hand," She cleared her throat and announced in a very deep voice. "Attention Wardens of Fereldan! Before you this day, I, Warden Commander Amell of the Grey, do marry Prince Hawke and… Princess… Anders,"

Some voices snickered at this.

"Shut up Alistair. Anders, you may kiss your husband. Or your husband can kiss you. Either way. Then go do whatever you need to do but I want him geared and ready tomorrow morning before first light. Dismissed!"

Hawke's mind was all a flurry. That was it? Was she married? What was that about being geared and rea—And that is when she felt two calloused fingers ghost over her chin. Automatically, Hawke looked up, achingly beautiful large eyes wide. It was the exact reaction Princess Anders had anticipated and Hawke soon found a warm, wet mouth covering hers. Her entire body froze, she barely heard Carver's garble of disgust, the wild hooting from the other wardens, the crackling of the fire over the griffon-emblazoned fire pit. All the world for that brief moment dissipated away and she was only aware of the feel and the smell. A hard, flat body. The musky smell of herbs, cats (?) and something else. Fire in the Fade.

For a split second, Hawke was in love. And then the moment was over.

Spluttering heavily, Hawke shoved her ugly bride away, feeling oh so very sick. 'Inner lesbianism! Where are you?' The tiny woman pleaded helplessly.

Princess Anders' face was oddly unreadable. "Well," she started in that soul-shattering deep voice of hers, messily smoothing back a lock of blond hair. "I'll ah… I'll meet you in the bridal chambers. I need to go talk to the Commander a bit. A lot actually," the princess spun around. "Oghren! Take the prince to the chambers!"

"Take him yerself ya sparkly skirt-wearer!" the dwarf bellowed back.

As the two wardens argued back and forth, Hawke stumbled into the awaiting embrace of her dutiful sister. "Found your inner lesbian yet?" Bethany said through a strained smile.

"No. I… I don't know. Maybe?"

Bethany patted her head understandingly. Finally, the dark-haired hooked nose warden from earlier volunteered to escort them after the hissing match between Oghren and Princess Anders looked ready to come to blows. Soon, Hawke found herself sitting on a massive bed, her sister quietly combing her short cut hair.

"Beth I can't do this," Hawke blurted out suddenly. "If she was a dusky pirate captain. Or an Orlesian bard! O-Or even a sweet dalish elf then maybe! B-But how am I supposed to find my inner lesbian with t-that?"

"Sister…"

"I know we need the money to save the farm but… but… oh Beth she has facial hair! And… And I will have to s-sleep with…" she couldn't continue, burying her face miserably.

"Everyone goes through some pre-wedding night jitters…" Bethany cooed softly, still brushing even if it did little.

"I want mother!" Hawke cried out and it was then Bethany realized the true extend of her sister's anguish.

"Sister," the younger Hawke said suddenly, an odd tone to her voice. "Here, take this."

Blearily, the older Hawke blinked through the tears. "What is th—Oh Maker's Breath! Bethany! Where did you get this? Did you steal it from some wild bandit man?"

"It was sitting in the Warden armoury! " Bethany defended, her ears hot.

"You stole from my in-laws? Beth! What kind of impression do you think that will give to them?"

"Well you married their princess so it's not exactly stealing, right?" the younger sister shot back. "Anyway! That's not the point. Here. Take it sister. If that she-man tries anything funny, you clunk her right on the noggin!"

"Bethany it's a club! I'm not bludgeoning anyone!"

"It's self preservation. I think you're allowed,"

"That's domestic violence!" Hawke cried.

"Do you _want_ to sleep with the bearded lady?"Bethany finally huffed, hands on her hips.

"No…" Hawke admitted quietly.

"Then take the club," Reluctantly, the older Hawke accepted the crude looking weapon and tucked it nervously under her pillow. Beth finally stood up and embraced her older sibling. "You can take on anything sister. Anything," she whispered softly. "Carver and I will think of something."

"I love you Beth," Hawke mumbled unexpectedly into her sister's shoulder.

"Me too,"

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	3. Wedding Night Clubbing

**A/N:** The Wedding Night! Poor Prince Hawke! And my Warden, Marzel Amell the mage, makes another appearance! Warning: Badly written romance incoming! I REGRET NOTHING. :D

Me writes whatever pops into head.

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><p>.<p>

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-3-

Minutes had passed. Then hours. Hawke, weary from endless pacing, had finally curled in the bed corner, bordering the wall, her head tucked against her knees. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep, but between the competition and her frantic worrying—she was exhausted in body and mind. Hence, the quietly creaking door went unnoticed.

It was only when the voices started speaking did Hawke groggily stir from her sleep.

"…I am simply informing you my occasional glowing friend that you face an upstream current. You may build as many diversion as you wish… but this stream only flows in one direction. Believe me, I tested the waters myself,"

"Well thank you Zevran for the enlightening observation but you didn't kiss him. I did and I know that river is divertible,"

Was the Princess Anders' voice? She sounded so… smug.

"Enough about river metaphors you two! Just get in there and bind him to the cause Anders!"

The Warden Commander? Hawke cracked open a bleary eye guardedly, spying three figures standing by the door.

"Ohhoho! I never knew you had such fetishes my dear Warden Commander. If you had only made such desires known to me—"

"That's not what I meant Zevran!" the Warden's voice squawked. "I meant… I meant… Anders, you know what I meant!"

"I don't know Amell. Were you suggesting I have sexual relations with my spouse involving… bindings?"

"Void take you both! I hate you so!"

"Nonsense, you love us," the voice from Zevran cooed with seemingly insufferable glee.

"Just get in there Anders. We need him to stick with this,"

"Seriously Amell. You want me to, what? Magically make him interested in men? Fall desperately in love with me? I honestly don't know what you're expecting me to do here!"

"Never mind that. You two are married, it doesn't matter,"

A sigh. "My dear Warden, living in that tower has given you a very warped view of marriage."

"Isn't marriage supposed to bind two people together until they both die?"

Zevran's tone was hesitant. "In theory… yes… but—"

"Well that settles it!" the Warden's voice cut in. "Now get in there Anders and make sure the he's up and ready dawn tomorrow or Maker help me you two will be getting a very, very frigid wake up call!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," Princess Anders' voice fluttered back, sounding much clearer now that she had stepped into the room.

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into darkness with the absence of the hallway light. Hawke checked her breathing, her forehead still firmly pressed against her knees, her arms hugging her legs tighter.

Hawke heard a step. Then another. Princess Anders must wear very loud shoes. She was certainly ungraceful in her footfalls. There was a creak as someone sat, the bed sinking and almost unbalancing Hawke.

"Well!" Princess Anders' voice echoed in the dark room. Hawke didn't dare look up. What was going to happen? Were they going to… was she going to… "You as awkward about this as me?"

Hawke frowned into her knees, not completely understanding.

A low sigh escaped the princess as Hawke heard two loud thuds – heavy boots falling against the wooden floor. Her body tensed as she felt the bed sink even deeper, supporting the bulky weight of the princess who had swung both bare feet onto the bed and was now casually reclined. "You know, I had woken up this morning thinking 'I'm going to feed my cats, heal some wounds, fight injustice, and take a nice bubble bath later'." A pause. "I was not expecting to be married,"

Hawke didn't know what to say, only that she keenly felt a growing guilt born out of empathy. That she had selfishly though only herself the victim of this strange marriage. That she had not considered, perhaps, this princess was like her too, also a victim of circumstances. Hesitantly, Hawke turned her head to find the princess silently watching her.

"But for what it's worth, I'm willing to try and make this work," Princess Anders said, flashing a surprisingly gentle smile.

Hawke found herself shyly smiling back, realizing she hadn't been fair. Princess Anders seemed like a nice person. And the princess did have very beautiful eyes. A soul-bearing honey brown. Perhaps if she stared into them, she could forget the stubble and mannish arms.

"Even if I am 'hideously ugly'," the princess continued on, chuckling lightly.

Ouch. Now Hawke felt terrible. "I'm sorry," she heard herself whispering. "You're not ugly, you have very beautiful eyes,"

"That's comforting to know!" the princess laughed before sitting up and leaning onto an elbow. "I wonder what else my cute little husband likes about me?"

_Husband_. Ugh. Hawke wanted to roll her eyes. Wait did she say she was 'cute'? The short-haired woman whipped her head about to meet the princess' thoroughly amused smirk. But oh, was it a mistake to decide to stare into those bewitching brown eyes. Hawke found herself being pulled in, deeper and deeper, she just couldn't look away.

She was frozen again, spellbound as the princess inched closer, captivating brown eyes never leaving hers. She could feel the hand running against her arms, gently tugging them away from their death clasp around her knees. Hawke felt her heart hammering violently against her chest even as she felt lips brush feather-light against her own. And there was this wonderful musky smell that made her breath catch. "The last time I kissed you, you spat about like you'd been force-fed Oghren's brew," Warm breath tickled her neck. "So let's just take this slow, mmm?"

Hawke's eyes fluttered shut, despite herself, as she felt seeking lips press against hers. Their kiss this time was much slower, more languid, unhurried. It was… nice? Perhaps she had touched her inner lesbian after all? Although that was yet to be decided as her eyes were still blissfully shut, feeling nothing but the tongue tentatively darting into her mouth. Ah… this was _very_ nice.

Unaccountable, she felt the heat pull away, followed by a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay this is coming off!"

"Huh?" Hawke blinked opened her eyes only to find the princess had scooted well off the bed and was now working on unclasping the many buckles adorning her green dress. The young Hawke stiffened.

Oh. OH! OH! They were going to… OH!

Kissing was one thing but this was an entirely new thing that Hawke was uncertain if she could handle. Her hands scooted backwards on instinct, only to bump into something hard that had been hidden under her pillow. What. Oh! Bethany's stolen club!

Hawke's large eyes flickered back to the princess. Three buckles left.

She fingered the club. Two buckles left.

Hawke was wracked with indecision. The princess didn't deserve to be clubbed! But. But. She didn't want to sleep with a bearded woman! But lo, down fell the shimmering green dress. Don't look Hawke! Don't look! Wait, why is the princess wearing breeches? No no no! That's not important. Hawke still had the club gripped under her pillow. To club or not to club? Hawke glanced back at the princess'… back.

_Oh_.

Muscles coiled as Princess Anders stretched, popping sore joints and creaking her neck. But. But. _Muscles_. Hawke continued to stare, mouth agape when Anders slowly turned around. And that is when she saw it. Or more correctly, didn't see what she was expecting to see.

One of those no-so-think eyebrows arched in amusement once more. "Like what you see?"

"Y-You're a… you're a…" Hawke fumbled helplessly, her mouth gulping like a fish.

The princess was a man! She was a man! Hawke had married a… a…

"CROSSDRESSER!" Hawke finally screamed, scrambling as far as she could and bumping noisily against the bed head-board.

"Prince Hawke, listen…"

"Stay away from me!" Hawke squeaked. A man. A man! She had a man in her bed! She had kissed a man! Okay the latter wasn't so bad, quite a relief actually but it was one thing to be experimentally kissing an ugly, mannish woman in your bed and quite another when it's a devastatingly handsome (Andraste's fire the stubble!) man. Who was shirtless. Oh Maker give her strength.

Where was Bethany's club?

"Hawke," Anders implored, now getting onto the bed, arm tentatively out-stretched. Hawke made a little shriek and tried to dodge away but Anders was far quicker and caught her tiny limbs easily.

"Let me go!" Oh Maker! She was in bed with a strange man! A man! Who was—wait. Wasn't she married to him already? Wouldn't that make everything ok—OH MAKER. He was a crossdresser! He probably likes men and—WAIT-A-MINUTE! Everyone thinks she's a man (or at least, a very young boy)! What would happen if she were discovered? If they'd found out she'd lied? What would they do to her? Or her poor siblings? Throw them into the dungeons? The gallows? Hawke's struggle increased ten-fold in ferocity. "Let go!" she screamed, lashing out desperately.

Unbelievable, she managed to wrench her hands free but ended up backed into the corner of the bed that bordered the cold, stone wall. With nowhere to run, she could only huddle against the wall cagily. Princess Anders sat facing her, but made no attempt to reach her. Quivering, Hawke warily gazed upwards and belatedly realized her mistake.

Her eyes met Anders' and there was such poignant _hurt_ mirrored in those deep brown depths that the young woman felt her heart sicken with grief. "Does it change things so much that I'm a man?"

"Of course it does!" Hawke couldn't help but blurt before violently clamming her mouth shut. She tore her gaze away, unwilling to continue witnessing the outright despair that was now darkening his pretty brown eyes. Of course it changes everything! Hawke cried out in her mind. For one she could be herself! And not listen to any inner lesbian urges. Maybe get pregnant even. Perhaps that'd finally convince her mother she was a girl.

No wait. Her mother would only think her eldest born was abducted by demons and implanted with some dark seed of despair. Sigh.

"You mean to say you'd rather I was an exceptionally ugly woman other than… myself?"

Hawke groaned into her knees again. If she felt bad before, she felt vile and inhuman now. Oh she didn't deserve breaking such a nice crossdressing man's heart. "I don't want to be thrown into the dungeon," her muffled voice wailed.

Anders blinked dumbly. "What? Why would anyone throw you into the dun—Oh," he sat back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Tucking his legs under him Anders regarded the curled up Hawke carefully. "Look, I don't know how things are back in Lothering but… things are different here in the Wardens. People here don't— Hawke, no one would throw you in the dungeons ,"

"I think your mother would beg to differ," Hawke mumbled, peeking quietly from between her arms.

Both Anders' eyebrows shot up this time. "My mother?" Then back down into an utterly confused frown. "I haven't seen my mother in years,"

"But. Just this afternoon. The Warden Commander,"

The confusion briefly warped into nauseous disgust, then slammed firmly back into sheer bewilderment. "Andraste's tits! Amell isn't my mother! He's not even a woman!"

Hawke's intense eyes widened in disbelief. Maker! How many crossdressers were there in this place? "She's… I mean he's not?"

"No. Andraste's flaming sword no!" Anders was leaning back in horror now. "Maker's breath man, he's got a beard and everything! Why would you think he wasn't a man? For that matter, I'm still wondering how you thought I was a woman?"

"They said you were a princess!" Hawke protested, raising her head impulsively. "And, and you were wearing a dress!"

The blond haired man scrunched his face, throwing a perplexed glance back at his discarded garment. "A dress? That wasn't a dress! That was an exclusive Tevinter mage's robe." He turned back and as if receiving a flash of inspiration, his expression suddenly turned devious. "Perhaps… you need further proof I am a man?"

"Wha—NO!" Hawke all but squawked.

"Hmm, I wonder," And those hungry brown eyes were on her again, and their intent seemed all too clear. He crossed the distance effortlessly, the bed dipping a helpless Hawke closer. Warm breath was soon caressing her goosebump skin once more. "Your tongue denies what your cheeks do not. Maybe we can get them both into agreement?"

Hawke squeaked stupidly, eyes unbelievably wide. "A-Anders,"A hand came to casually rest on her thigh. "Anders!" Hawke yelped, eyes darting to the offending hand and back up but her own hands unable (or unwilling) to do anything about it.

"I like it when you say my name. Very much actually," his stubble was now grazing against her ear.

"Anders w-wait. I-I need to tell you something—"

The hand on her thigh was now inching its way upwards in a very distracting manner. "Mmm, tell me tomorrow,"

"No! I need to tell you now!" Oh that hand was exploring places it definitely shouldn't! "I'm a… I'm a…!"

Bare shoulders abruptly stiffened as Anders' head snapped to face her. His own brown eyes mirroring her own shocked expression. "You're a—"

**CLUB!**

And down slummed Princess Anders right into Hawke's negligible bosom.

"Did that scum woman hurt you?" the intense visage of Carver Hawke loomed into view just behind the comatose warden, a giant wooden club in hand.

Hawke had a myriad of emotions a-washing her at that moment—some contributed by Anders' face pressing against her chest— but sibling love eventually won over outraged sexual frustration. "Carver?" the elder Hawke stammered. "You came to rescue me?"

Carver abruptly ducked his head away, growling evasively. "It was Bethany's idea okay? I'm just helping out because she couldn't bear the guilt of forcing you to marry some ugly stranger. So don't make a big deal about it." He snapped.

"Oh Carver," Hawke sniffed, shoving Anders' head away and shuffling forward. The two embraced like brothers. Or one brother and one very mannish looking older sister. "Where _is_ Beth, anyway?"

Carver jerked his head towards the slightly ajar door. "Distracting the guard. Come on, we don't have much time,"

Bouncing off the bed, Hawke offered one last glance at the unconscious warden. Very gently, she smoothed down a strand of wayward blond hair. "If I were really a man then perhaps. But I'm not, so I'm sorry Anders. This is probably for the best…"

"Andraste's ashes sister! Did you connect to your inner lesbian after all?" her brother gasped, looking a touch concern. "Or did that ugly woman slip something into your drink?"

"Anders is not an ugly woman! He's got the most beautiful brown eyes!"

"Wait what. 'He'?"

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. "Never mind that. Let's just get out of here first,"

Carver was only too happy to agree, eager to leave this land full of bearded women and drunken dwarves.

* * *

><p>The two Hawke sibling dashed hurriedly down the suspiciously empty hallway, but neither saw any sign of Bethany. Hawke meanwhile, was attempting to explain the situation to her brother in between harried sprinting. "So we better get out of here before they figure out I'm not a man and throw us into jail for fraud or contract breech or whatever!"<p>

Carver was shaking his head. "Couldn't you just have clubbed the princess so no one would find out your secret?"

"I am not bludgeoning my wife! Err, husband! I mean Anders!"

"I though you said you didn't want to marry that woman?"

"I did! I mean. I didn't…! You know what, that's not important! Anders is actually a –"

Two pairs of feet screeched to a halt. For lo, standing before them in a light, semi-transparent white chiffon dress was the Warden Commander. The bearded woman – 'man' Hawke mentally corrected—watched the two with astute eyes. "Escaping are we? Anders was confident he could dissuade you… but I see you have discovered our 'princess' secret and haven't taken it too well." The Warden loomed forward, a long wooden stick grasped firmly in his left hand. "You are bound by marriage Prince Hawke. I cannot allow you to leave,"

Carver raised his own wooden club defensively, taking a step forward. "My father taught me never to fight a woman, but I'm warning you lady—"

"Crossdresser," Hawke coughed.

Her brother blinked, shooting a flabbergasted look. "What?"

"He's a crossdresser. Not a woman. Anders told me,"

The Warden Commander spluttered. "I'm not a crossdresser!"

"You're wearing a dress…" Carver pointed-out but his stand became more aggressive.

The Warden glanced down at his gently fluttering white chiffon outfit. "This is my sleeping frock! Do you fools know what time it is? Some of us have to get up very early tomorrow!"

"Well serrah," Hawke jumped in, flashing her most diplomatic smile. "We won't keep you awake for any longer! We shall just be on our way—"

The wooden staff slammed loudly onto the pristine griffon-motive marble floor and Hawke swore she heard ominous thunder rumbling. "You will not leave," the Warden intoned darkly and was is just her or did the temperature of the hallway just drop a few degrees?

Chattering teeth answered her as the two Hawke siblings faced off with the unyielding warden, a howling wind growing in intensity as the warden advanced. But the younger Hawke would have none of it. "You can't stop us!" Wooden club still grasped in shivering limbs, Carver charged forward.

"Carver wait!" But Hawke's warning came too late. With blinding speed, the warden's hand had shot upwards, his lips barely moving before a frigid cone of pure ice surged outwards, a chilling swarm enclosing the hapless club-wielding warrior with cold intension. "Carver!"

Her brother imprisoned, Hawke swivelled about just as the Warden drew a sword. "Stand down and come quietly Prince Hawke. Do not make things worst,"

But Hawke wasn't thinking of surrender. Her brother had been encased in ice! Elder sibling pride demanded retribution for none could harm her flock (except her). Backing away slowly, the young woman determinately sought a weapon, any weapon. But she had left her club still tucked under a pillow and Carver's was encased with him. Her shrewd eyes fell upon the Warden's wooden stick he had strapped to his back in favour of the sword he now wielded. If she could get that…

"I can make this twenty times worst!" Summoning what inner resources she had, Hawke marshalled her thoughts and mind. Concentrate… focus, reach out and will it so. With a snarl, Hawke curled her hand into a fist and through sheer force of will, slammed in down.

Windows shattered and griffon-decorated pots scattered haphazardly as an unseen force cracked the proud Warden Commander, quite painfully, onto the icy marble floor. Hawke did not hesitate. With the nimbleness of a poverty-stricken princeling, she scrambled forward, ripping away the wooden staff just as the Warden staggered upright. Unsteadily, he spat out a nasty glop of blood and saliva, rubbing off the rest against his beautiful chiffon sleave. Red bled into white in a very poetic manner.

"Okay, that'll teach me to disbelief that witch again," the Warden straightened, an expression close to respect gracing his sharp features. "I guess you're definitely the person from the prophecy."

Hawke had the staff half-raised, ready for bludgeoning, but paused. "What are you talking about?"

The Warden shook his head, twirling his sword guardedly. "Doesn't matter. What matters is I can't let you go. Now more than ever,"

Back on the defensive, Hawke bared her teeth instinctively. "I'm going home. And I'm taking my brother (and sister when I find her) with me!"

The two circled each other with tense and calculating steps. "Can't let you do that. Lives are at stake and I will do what I must to save them,"

Now that made Hawke truly pause. "Wait, what lives…?"

But her sudden concern was distraction enough as the Warden swung forward, effortlessly breeching her defences. Battle instinct alone caused her stolen staff to swing just in time to block the Warden's attack. The two grappled, ice and pressure exploding throughout the hallways as the still-encased Carver looked on. The Warden Commander twisted his sword, if he could just get a grip on—

"Amell stop!"

The Warden's head perked upward for a split second but it was all Hawke needed to slam her misappropriated stick into the distracted man's chest, sending him skidding on the now slowly melting, wet floor. Panting, shoulders heaving, the young woman spun about to spy a shirtless, shoeless blond man dashing down the puddle-filled hall.

"Anders?" she gapped. He was remarkably steady for a man who had just recently been clubbed unconscious.

Princess Anders came to a stop before her, grabbing her tiny hands urgently. "Hawke, Hawke. Please Hawke. We can work this out. I know we've not known each other long, a few hours really, but I think we could have something! Please just give it a chance, love."

Something funny flipped inside Hawke at the last word. She'd agree to him anything with that one word. But alas, could she pretend to be a man the rest of her life? Shaking her head, Hawke bitterly tried to wrest her fingers free. "We won't be happy Anders. I can't be something I'm not and you deserve better," It was a distasteful admission, but it was truth.

Those not-so-thick eyebrows twisted into confusion and Anders seemed about to question her when the Warden dizzily interrupted the two. "This argument is moot. The both of you are married and you are forsworn by the bindings of matrimony Prince Hawke. Warden Anders, secure your husband."

Hawke felt Anders' hand on her upper arm, but it was by no means a securing grip. Nervously, she dared a glance and was worried to find the stark inner conflict written all over his handsome face. He kept squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth moving wordlessly at some unheard mental debate.

She couldn't bear it. She couldn't. So be it then. Let them find out she had lied. Let them hang her or whatever. She'd damn herself if it spared Anders of this. But she had to keep her siblings safe. And while yes, they were accessary to the gender deception, it was her duty as the eldest Hawke to protect them. "Wait. Before we go any further, I want you to release my siblings. They had no part in—"

"Release them? I was waiting for them to leave!" the Warden interjected, absently squeezing water from the hem of his white chiffon night dress. "Your brother has been in my larder, eating everything he could find! And I swear your sister was misplacing all my warden clubs. She needs to put them back in the armoury when she's done with them you know? Honestly, manners!"

"Carver!" Hawke scolded, shooting a glare at her now defrosted younger brother.

"I was hungry," the young man scowled, folding his arm peevishly. "In case you forgot, we haven't eaten anything but stale bread and old soup for weeks!"

"Alright fine, I concede that. But where's—"

A side door mysteriously flung open, its hinges shuddering loudly. And out stepped Bethany, dishevelled,and only in her small clothes. "Stop the fighting!" Bethany screamed, clutching a bed sheet closer to her impressive bosom.

"Bethany! Where have you been?" The older Hawke blinked. "And where are your clothes?" Hawke cried, appalled.

"I um. I was distracting the guard while Carver went to—"

"It looks more like you got distracted distracting! And then some! Oh Beth, what would mother say?" Her voice was full of reproval.

"Oh you are one to talk!" Bethany fired back, annoyed. But then she shook her head, waving her hands frantically. "Oh but that's not important! Everyone should just stop fighting first!"

Everyone regarded the now watery hallway and the Warden scratched his finely-shaved beard uncomfortably. "Eh, I think you're a bit late for that,"

"Fiddlesticks," Bethany swore. "So my eldest sibling has agreed to go with you then? And no hard feelings annulling the marriage and all?"

That seemed to snap Anders from his internal indecision. "Wait just a second here. No one said anything about annulling our marriage!" His arm circled Hawke's shoulders almost defensively.

Hawke wasn't sure how to feel about this declaration, so instead threw a look at her younger sister. "And what's this about going somewhere?"

"You know, to fulfil the prophecy?" Bethany began, looking from warden to warden.

"That's the second time I've heard that. What is it?" Hawke demanded.

"They didn't tell you?"

This time, the Warden Commander raised his hand slightly. "We were going to bring the matter up tomorrow…"

"No, I think we bring the matter up now!" Hawke stepped away from Anders' grasp, hands on her hips and eyes steadfast.

The Warden Commander's reply was forestalled when Carver, somewhat self-consciously, approached the two glaring individuals. "Can we get something to eat first? I'm hungry…"

"Oh Carver!" Hawke admonished with a tired shake.

"Actually, I'm a little hungry as well…" Bethany admitted reluctantly.

"I'm famished!" Anders joined in, quite jovially, taking the opportunity to step up to Hawke and reassert his arm around her frame again.

With all the events of the day, Hawke had to agree she hadn't had much to eat recently either. "Well I suppose…"

"Alright! Alright!" the Warden huffed, wriggling his hands in annoyance. "Let's carry this on in the kitchens. Maybe with full bellies we can make snouts and tails of this mess!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: And so it was Prince Hawke's wedding night! Next up... The Prophecy!


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